


Reptilian Predicament

by stuffbyshelbyfics



Series: Witchy Pines [10]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: EDIT: stay away from BIG pythons that can strangle and eat you the little ones are fine, Gen, Hypnotism, Snakes, stay away from pythons kids they'll mess you up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 03:05:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14907128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuffbyshelbyfics/pseuds/stuffbyshelbyfics
Summary: Stan and Ford encounter a very strange snake.





	Reptilian Predicament

Stanley swung his machete with a practiced hand, slicing through the thick vegetation that was obstructing his path. The caution of perilous years had made his grip tighter than it usually would have been, but it was a special occasion; Ford’s anomaly tracker had drawn their attentions to this deceptively small tropical island, to whatever strange creature or phenomenon awaited them. There certainly was a number of options that had presented themselves to the brothers upon their arrival, if the plate-sized butterflies and giant flowers were anything to go by. Ford had suggested that they split up to cover more ground, and Stan had picked the eastern half of the rainforest to tackle while his brother explored the western side. Nothing much seemed worthy of being collected and documented so far, except for the unsettlingly large mosquitoes that left itchy bumps on any skin he was careless enough to expose.

However, his unprotected skin could be excused by the tropical weather. The humid air left a sticky film of sweat on his arms, forehead, and back as the equatorial sun beamed down through the morning mists. As the warm coastal winds breathed through the trees and vines, Stan could feel his eyelids drooping as yesterday’s late night card games took their toll on him. With a sigh, he wiped his forehead (he’d thankfully left his beanie behind on the Stan o’ War II) and leaned against a thick trunk of the seemingly endless forest. He wondered what, if anything, his brother had been able to find other than hot breezes and stinging bugs.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On the other side of the island, Stanford was thinking much the same thing. Mobile anomalies were getting harder to find and study out in the wildernesses beyond Gravity Falls, and he inwardly cursed himself for expecting every expedition to be as easy as capturing a feral gnome in his backyard. At least his half of this tropical haven was closer in topographical appearance to the coast than the deep rainforest; he could almost glimpse the rocky beach of the opposite side of the island that they’d anchored at. Brackish streams criss-crossed the muddy ground as he stepped carefully along their sandy banks, and as he spotted a lumpy platform of smooth stone just across the next calm creek, it occurred to him that its firm surface could well be a good place to take a rest and review what notes he’d taken so far.

He squelched across the mud and sank gratefully onto the warm stone with a contented sigh, a welcome relief from the chilly waters of the salty brooks, and retrieved his journal from the safety of his waterproof bag. Flipping back through blank pages his and Stan’s imagined future adventures hadn’t been able to touch yet, he crammed some observations of the wildlife under the huge butterflies and the sizable mosquitoes that Stan had griped about to him over their walkie-talkies before the scant reception fizzled out. A tired smile graced his wrinkled cheeks, temporarily lifted by the memory of his brother’s good-natured cantankerousness, and he added a small detail to a drawing of a butterfly’s wing as more of them flapped ponderously around him, landing on the riverbanks to pump water from the moist sand. The path of his gaze continued to travel along the stream, following its contours and gliding upwards into the twisting, vine-choked branches of a tree, and halted on the most colorful snake he’d ever seen on the planet.

It was so brightly tinted that it was a wonder he hadn’t noticed it before, and the membrane covering its eye glimmered in the sunlight as it looked back at him; it had evidently perceived him before he’d been able to perceive it. The shape of its jaw suggested that it was a type of python, but it was more obviously colored than any other of its species that he’d seen. Rings of purple and yellow laced around each other on its back, and its underbelly was a light lime green. It was utterly improbable for something that visible to survive over the evolutionary timeline, and Ford found himself fascinated by it. One of the things that had originally drawn him to his line of study was simply how weird anomalous organisms were; creatures that would never be able to endure the rigors of natural selection found neiches in the strangest places, and thus became even more strangely adapted to their habitats by accidents of genetics. As he examined what could be seen of the snake’s immense girth, he wondered what circumstances had arose for its species to evolve into this form, and what possible designs it could take in the future. Despite the odd colors, the snake was surprisingly adept at disguising itself in its environment, and Ford found himself especially captivated by its eyes. They shone like jewels in the mid-morning sun, flashing a brilliant emerald, amethyst, and citrine. It soon began to ooze from its branch, gliding like liquid muscle over the smooth bark and circling down the length of the tree.

Ford wanted to take some notes on this extraordinary creature, but his hands were slack and useless in his lap. As the snake drew closer, he found himself unable to move and unable to worry; the tropical sun and warm breeze had effectively tranquilized him, and he didn’t mind at all. The snake’s scaly head brushed against his knee and raised itself upwards, seemingly sizing him up as its thick coils began to loop around his waist. He should really do something about that, shouldn’t he? But it was so comfortable here on this warm rock, and it would be so easy to just close his eyes and doze off in the sunlight, peacefully unconcerned at how close the snake was getting. He could feel his eyelids becoming heavier and his limbs becoming stiller as he could only stare into the snake’s jeweled eyes as its head drew nearer to his…

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stan paused in his onslaught of the thick vines, and laid a hand on his walkie-talkie, secured at his belt. The crackle of static flooded the small speaker, indicating that perhaps the radio reception had improved. He held it to his lips:

“Sixer, you there? I think the radio’s better now.”

Silence.

“Ford? Come on, pick up already. Where are you?”

Silence.

“Stanford? _Stanford?_ ”

Silence. And then, at the edge of hearing, a low hiss.

“Oh no.”

He pounded frantically back through the path he’d hacked from the wood, continuing to yell urgently into the walkie-talkie as he ran. He swore at his twinging legs, sensing the necessity of speed, trying not to think of what could be happening to his brother as he was waylaid by the damned vegetation. Finally he approached the tangle of streams that his brother had wandered into, the mud still holding the imprints of Ford’s boot -

With a sickening squelch, Stan’s leg sunk up to the knee in the watery sand. He cursed and screamed, wrenching desperately at the fabric of his pants, too distracted to even wave away the mosquitoes that thronged around his head like a flock of vultures. After what felt like an eternity, his leg came free, and he staggered across the mud flats towards the lumpy stage of stone.

It was with immense relief that Stan saw that his brother was not dead or obviously injured, like he’d feared, but neither of them were in the clear yet. The biggest snake he’d ever seen was wrapped around Ford up to his neck, with the man’s arms pinned to his sides and his legs folded under him. He reached behind him into his backpack and squeezed the handle of his baseball bat that Ford had scoffed at him bringing - joke’s on him, Stan thought distantly - and swung it at the snake’s head with a wordlessly cry of rage, the wood slamming into its huge open jaw with a chorus of dulled snaps.

Ford’s eyes flew open, and he instinctively attempted to writhe out of the coils of smooth muscle, his vocal cords snapping back to functionality with a strangled alien swear. Stan gripped him under his armpits and pulled him out of the still-struggling loops, dragging him across the rocks as his brother’s limbs spasmed in panic. He was unceremoniously dumped on the sand as Stan went back for seconds, stamping his foot down on the snake’s skull before it could recover from the bat’s blow.

Ford wheezed, his lungs gasping for air as the pressure on his rib cage ceased. Stan hurried back to him, crouching down in front of him.

“Are you okay? I’m gonna kill that goddamn snake,” he rasped breathlessly.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Ford gulped back. “I think it may already be dead.”

“What happened? It looked like it had you hypnotized or somethin’.”

“That might have been the case,” Ford grasped his brother’s proffered hand and pulled himself upright, his legs wobbling unsteadily under his weight. “It kept coming closer, but I just didn’t want to move…”

“Hey. Hey. Listen to me, Stanford.” Stan gripped Ford’s shoulders, steadying him as he began to fall forward. “You’re alright now. We’re gonna pack up this jerk and take ‘im back to the boat, okay? Everything’s gonna be fine, I promise.”

“Okay,” Ford mumbled, still fighting for breath. “God, I can’t believe I was so stupid -”

Stan slapped a hand carefully over his mouth. “We’ll do this later, okay? Right now we gotta pack up and get outta here before the coast guard shows up or somethin’.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stanley’s apprehensions of law enforcement were unfounded; the horizon was as empty when they left as it had been when they’d arrived. The idea of strapping the snake’s storage crate/coffin to the roof of the boat had been shot down in favor of putting it in the cabin with the other samples, although they’d eventually have to move their beds to the bow to make room. They’d settled for cramming it in the hold for the time being until they had the time and resources to figure out a better arrangement.

Stanford sat on his cot, still feebly rubbing at his chest. He checked the clock on the wall and fished a small orange bottle out of his bag, unscrewing the white cap with trembling hands. He’d usually rely on his developing magical abilities to relieve stress, but he’d lately found that antidepressants could pick up the slack where his scrambled mind would fail. He jolted in surprise as Stan’s calloused hands gently pressed on his own.

“Hey,” he smiled wearily, sitting down beside him on the soft blankets. “You doing okay?”

“Yes,” Ford sighed, “Just still a little shocked, I suppose. I shouldn’t have been that careless.”

“It’s not your fault, poindexter. You couldn’t have known it was gonna do that.”

“I should still have been cautious, though! Every time I think I’m getting closer to being able to control this stuff, something always happens and one of us gets in danger again.”

“Hey, come on,” Stan protested, “The siren incident wasn’t that bad, if you’re still thinking about that. We just have to be more careful next time.”

Ford chuckled tiredly. “I guess you’re right.” He grabbed Stan’s wrist suddenly, as it it was the only thing keeping him anchored in a storm-tossed universe. “Thank you. I would have died if you hadn’t been there.”

Stan smiled back at him, halfway standing. “No problem, buddy. Now get some sleep for once, alright? We’ll have a busy day tomorrow.”

Ford exhaled with relief, finally at peace. “Alright.”

The early evening air buzzed with insects and birds as the Stan o’ War II shoved off from the strange island, their reptilian prize safely stowed.


End file.
